


Finding Her

by ficdirectory



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Disuphere Universe, Gen, Injury Recovery, Kidnapping, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: Eleven-year-old Dominique Williams went missing in the same time period as Jesus Foster, out of the same city.  Her parents never stop looking.





	Finding Her

There’s one video, from the week before Dominique was taken - Jaimie’s positive she was taken - her baby would never just disappear.  

Her birthday.  She’d come to them in June, just after school let out (as was her way) to let them know her earliest thoughts on all things birthday.  

Was always a big planner.

Is.

She  _is_  a big planner.  Jaimie knows she’s out there somewhere.

So, because Dominique loves a good plan - gets that from Michael - Jaimie’s just sure - she believed that they needed four months of lead time to get used to the idea that Dominique was over the bounce house thing this year, and would like to do something more grown up.

Turned out, Dom wasn’t wrong.  It took Micheael about three of the four months lamenting how their baby was growing up.  How Can She Be Over Bounce Houses eventually turned into Soon She’ll Want Earrings and then to She Won’t Be My Little Girl Anymore.

But once Michael worked through all the stages of dealing with the fact that babies grow up, he was so on board for that final month.  For all of September he was calling places every spare minute, doing research when he wasn’t working, about what was “in” or “cool” for 11 year olds these days.

And it was Michael who found (and booked) Zombie Detective.  A thing where you get two adults and however many children in a room and they have to stay away from the zombie and solve hidden clues to escape.

Jaimie hadn’t been sold on the idea.  Dominique was smart.  A natural at practically everything she tried.  She was easily bored.

But when they surprised her, and her two best friends - Jennah and Sharna - those three were like the Three Musketeers - Dominique was over the moon.  And Michael?  Was just as into it as she was.

They set a record, those two.  As Jennah and Sharna tried desperately to keep up and Jaimie stood back with her phone, recording.  (At the time, Michael was on her about joining in, but now?  Jaimie’s so glad she has that video.)

Jaimie watches it probably twenty times a day.  The look on Dom’s face - how she broke into the biggest smile when they figured out the final clue together and they escaped.

She looked right into the camera and said,  _“We did it, Mommy!  I got us out!”_

Jaimie remembers the hug, just after the video cuts.  How Dominique felt, held safely against her.

_“Ugh, my little zombie escape artist, I love you!  I am so proud of you!”_

Now, Jaimie can’t stop being glad that she told Dominique she was loved.  That her mom was proud of her.  Never knowing that in seven days time, she’d just be gone.

–

Realizing Dominique was missing?  

That’s all a blur.

All a major blur.  

Michael remembers it was Saturday, a week to the day after Dominique turned eleven and together, they saved Dominique’s two best friends, and Jaimie from zombies.  (Totally worth the $350 he dropped reserving the whole room for just the five of them?  To have that moment with his baby girl?  Well, it was priceless…)

_“Team Williams for the win!”_  he’d said, and she’d giggled.  

_“We set the record?  Really?”_ she’d wondered, so excited.  So driven - always - to do her best, to be her best.

That memory screeches to a halt like a record on one of his grandmothers’ records on a bad day.

Time jumps.

It’s Saturday again.

Afternoon.  (He and Jaimie did drop off but pickup was a solo mission.)

He parked and waited, ‘cause Dominique hated it when he showed up early, telling her he wasn’t a regular dad, he was a cool dad.  So, he waited until she could not legitimately be embarrassed by her Cool Dad.  He walked in.

Saw other little girls walking out.

One, Jennah Solomon, Dominique’s first best friend, lights up when she sees his face.  “Mr. Williams!  Hi!  Is Dominique feeling better?”

His brain screeches again.  That record scratched.  Damaged.  Never playing the same again.

“What do you mean?” he’d asked, a smile still on his lips.  It falters.  “Did she get sick?  Is she hurt?”

“No, I mean…I don’t know.  She didn’t come in.”

“What do you mean she didn’t come in?” Michael asks, over-enunciating, and itching to hold onto Jennah by the shoulders.  “She was waiting for you by the doors, right?  You walked in together.”

“No, I came last minute.  No one was outside.  I came in and looked around.  She wasn’t there.”

A blur of looking for Dominique.  Of trying to remember what she had on.  Of tearing the car apart for the little directory sent home with all the names and numbers on it of all the girls Dom cheers with.

One after another.  After another.  As Michael called.  Asked and hoped and prayed and willed it - that somebody might know where Dominique was.

But none of the cheer moms had her at their house.  (One of the girls said, she’d seen Dominique talking to Brittany, but Michael reread the damn directory 17 times.

32 names.  

Not one Brittany.

Calling Jaimie, Michael felt frantic.  Like he’d swallowed stones.

“Babe, I just got to work.  What’s up?” Jaimie had asked, sounding so normal.

He dragged in a breath and said the words that would break her world:

“Dominique’s missing.  Nobody’s seen her in two hours, babe.”

“Michael, don’t play me like that.  She’s at cheerleading.  You gotta go pick her up.”

“I am.  I am here, Jaimie, but she isn’t.  I’m telling you.  Something happened.”

Silence.  Long.  Agonizing.

Then:

“I’m coming right now.”

_Click._

–

They called police and they showed up.  Then they gave the third degree about what kind of girl Dominique was.  If she was the type to run away.  If there were family problems.  Jaimie answered each question as clearly and calmly as possible.  Shared that Dominique was a straight A student.  Didn’t matter.

When the cops left with a “she’ll turn up,” over their shoulder, Jaimie knew this wasn’t about to be any Jesus-Foster situation.  She’d thought about it before, of course, but living it…  Well, that was altogether different.

When they searched, it wasn’t strategic.  

Wasn’t with a plan.  They had no plan.  They had people.  They had neighbors.  Family was just plain too far away.

So, they called everybody they could think of.   Asked them to get out and drive around.  Look for Dom.  Call out for her.

Jaimie had been so positive that they’d find Dominique immediately.  That day.  Or that night.  When they didn’t?  Deep down, she started to panic.

For about a week, their neighborhood search party was strong.  Michael had printed countless MISSING flyers with a picture of Dominique from her birthday celebration a week ago.

Just like she promised her daughter two years ago, Jaimie took to Twitter.  Getting Dominique’s face out there.  Her description.  A number to call.  Their number.  Just in case anyone knew anything.

Michael had the phone book out, old school, looking up Brittanys.  Because eleven year old kids don’t pay attention to license plate numbers.  Details.  So all they know is so freakin’ little, it makes Jaimie’s throat ache:

Long blonde hair.  White.  Older.

But older could mean anything.

Eventually, the massive search presence dwindles.  Pretty soon, Jaimie and Michael are the only two driving around.  Keeping an eye out.  Michael has a stack of those posters in his back seat.  Puts them up wherever he can.

_“I want Dominique to see.  To know we’re looking.”_

But hours turned to days.  Days to weeks.  Weeks to months.  Halloween came first - Dom’s favorite holiday.  No sign.  Thanksgiving, and she wasn’t here to request Gran’s mac and cheese.  Christmas.  Jaimie had been sure Dominique would be home by Christmas, but no.  And after the New Year, something shifted.  Jaimie still looked every time she went out, but now?

She wasn’t so sure she’d like what they found.

Valentine’s Day.  St. Patrick’s Day.  Spring Break.  School letting out.  Summer.

_Never_ , Jaimie, thought, crying in her car.

–

Friday, August 27th.  5:04 PM.  

10 months, 17 days, 7 hours and 4 minutes after he last saw Dominique, Michael’s phone rings.

By now, he’s stopped expecting it to be somebody who might know something.  Stopped expecting it to be Dominique, lost, scared, all by herself.

But his anxiety means that he cannot just let this unfamiliar number just go to voicemail without checking it out.

“Hello?” he asks.

“May I please speak to Michael Williams?” a voice asks.

“This is he,” he offers, distracted.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, sir, but your daughter, Dominique, has been injured in an accident.”

He blinks, his brain screeching back to that day in the zombie room - “I got us out!” - to that day almost 3 years ago when he and Jaimie had this talk with her and she asked why she’d go to the hospital, and if she would be hurt.

“Which hospital?” Michael blurts, grabbing the nearest pen and scribbling four letters: UCSD.

–

It’s night.

Several hours since Michael got that call, and Jaimie’s torn.  She can’t help but be happy that Dominique’s here.  She’s alive.  Somehow, she made it.  But she’s also hurt almost beyond what Jaimie can comprehend.

Burns over 45% of her body.  Her face, both arms, both legs.  She’s not been conscious yet.  They’re still waiting.  Hoping.  Praying. Willing her to pull through.  She’s come this far.

She’s wrapped from head to toe in gauze.

Michael about passed out when he saw her.  Or it could’ve been the other news the doctor gave them: Dominique, at almost 12 years old?  Had been pregnant.

_“She told the EMTs to please save her baby after she passed along your number.  She was only about three weeks along.”_

Didn’t take long for the doctors to give Michael something to help him rest.  But Jaimie’s up.  For the long haul.  Maybe, for the rest of her life.  

She sees movement out of the corner of her eye as she stares, blankly at the vending machine.  Turns.  A sweet elderly woman in a fancy hat and jacket approaches her.

“You’re that girl’s mother,” she says, knowing.

“I beg your pardon?” Jaimie asks, still not yet able to shake off the shock that after almost a year - yes - she is still someone’s mother.

“The little girl they brought in here,” the woman insists.  “She asked for help, you know.  To use my phone.”

“My daughter?” Jaimie stutters, confused.

“The one who they pulled from that burning van?  Yes.  I guarantee it,” the woman says.

“What happened?  What did Dominique tell you?”

“Just that she needed to make a call.  Needed to use the bathroom.  I could tell she was in trouble.  So, I told her ‘go ahead, and I’ll guard the door.’  She stayed in there as long as she could.  ‘Til those men she was with started hassling me.  Think she came out to protect me.  Then, they got her in the van, and a few seconds later?”

The woman’s face is so sad.

“Thank you, for helping her,” Jaimie offers, her voice breaking.

“Of course.”  The woman clasps Jaimie’s hand.  “Is she okay?  How can I pray for her?”

“Right now, we’re just praying she makes it through the night…” Jaimie manages.

“Oh.  Sit right down now.”

Jaimie does.  Feels herself enfolded in the impossibly frail but strong arms of this sweet, sweet stranger.

And as she falls apart, Jaimie thinks - this woman’s arms - they feel a little bit like wings.

–

Roberta becomes a fixture at the hospital in the coming months.  She brings food and just sits in the burn ICU waiting room.

Michael takes to her.

She reminds him of what he guesses his birth grandmother might be like.

It’s a relief, to have somewhere to be.  Because Dominique, through her horrifying ordeal, has become terrified of men.

All men.

Including Michael.

It breaks his heart, but he gets it.  As much as he can.  Roberta has a good amount of insight on “the men” and “the life” and could easily recognize Dominique was a young girl and in trouble.

“So you just give her space.  It’s not personal.  You follow her lead.  Take her cues.  And eventually?  She’ll come back to you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Michael says, blinking tears from his eyes.  “Thank you.”

Roberta pats his hand.  Then she takes her cane, and her hat, and walks out the door.


End file.
